Old Scars
by themadgears
Summary: Remus Montierro is a hardened Imperial with the blood of a Windhelm guard on his hands. This story details his escape from prison and the adventures that follow. Rated T for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**LAST SEED, 19TH, 4E 201**

**_Fucking guards. Windhelm is a cesspool of prejudice and xenophobia. Couldn't take it in Cyrodiil, can't take it here. Seems everywhere it's the same- the rich and noble have their heads stuck so far up their arses that the hardship of the common man goes unnoticed._**

**LAST SEED, 22ND, 4E 201**

**_They locked me up. One of the guards was harassing a dark elf woman and I fucked him up. They say he's dead. Bastard. They took all my things and threw me in the Palace of The Kings jail. Fuck this. When the guard comes to my cell again I'm going knock him unconscious. I don't want to kill anybody. After that I figure I'll just run. The palace is too well guarded to sneak past and I've always been a fast runner. Might not be the best plan but I guess I'd rather die fighting than spend who knows how many years in here doing nothing. Fuck Ulfric. Fuck the Empire. Fuck this god damn war._**

**_…_**

"Get back here Imperial scum!"

I ignore all the threats, insults and comments about my mother being thrown at me. My feet are moving in a rhythm that almost rivals the speed that my heart is beating. My shoulder is aching from when I rammed my body into the city doors to open them. I'm far from safe, just a few steps outside the city and there are guards in front of me and behind me. I quickly study my environment. The bridge is too well guarded to make across and there is no way I can go back into Windhelm. Adrenaline kicks in and I sprint towards the edge of the stone bridge.

"You're cornered, Imperial. Come back and maybe we won't hurt you that bad."

"Fuck off."

"You've nothing to gain from this but death. The wise choice would be to come with us."

"I'd sooner join your lost cause."

I hear the twang of an arrow leaving a bow. Before I can prepare myself it rips through my shoulder blade, knocking me forward. The cold wind whistles around me.

_Shit. _

The impact is sudden and painful. I feel every muscle in my body scream. The water is freezing, and if I stay in it for much longer my chances of survival aren't strong. I pull myself out of the river and start running again. I turn my head and see the confused guards on the bridge. A second later they are on my tail again, but it's too late now. My feet move into the familiar rhythm of running again and I can hear the whizz of arrows around me. All my muscles scream in protest and sweat drips from my brow. In the distance I see the ruins of a house. Traitor's Post. I've been there before, seen it while examining the area. I slow down to a brisk jog and enter the house. It must've been a nice place in its day. Two stories, large living quarters and a fire place. Probably belonged to a rich farmer. All of a sudden my stomach heaves and I bend down and throw up, nauseas from pain and exhaustion. I move back and lie against the wall, breathing heavily. I almost didn't make it. Things could've gone better if I hadn't let my mouth run on the bridge.  
Suddenly my whole body lurches forward. My shoulder feels as if it's on fire. I would have to remove the arrow. It's nothing I haven't done before.

As a child I was trained for this kind of thing. My parents had always wanted me to be general in the Legion. Everyday I was given private lessons by some of the greatest warriors in Tamriel. I was trained to be a killer, trained to wield a sword like it was an extension of my arm. The bow too, to a lesser extent. I was even taught some magic. My parents mainly focused on swordplay though, as their perfect warrior wielded a sword. I had my first kill at 12 years old in a run away attempt. My parents covered it up nicely of course. The trainer was killed in a freak accident while he was drunk, of course. An unfortunate event to be sure. I was beaten to a pulp that night. Maybe they thought that beating me would break my spirit, break my _anger_. I was never the perfect child that they wanted. Always too reckless. My temper caused me to make mistakes in battle. And I never agreed with their ideals, their narcissistic conviction that we and the rest of the nobles were somehow superior to the rest. That there was no reason to share our riches with the less fortunate, for we deserved our money because we, of course, were the nobles. And _they _weren't. And why would the less fortunate even want our money? They were content with living under us, content with having less. They were dumber, they were uglier. But I was observant. I saw through the lies. I noticed the suffering in the rest of the Imperial City. I noticed the beggars and whores, the orphans and drunks.  
As I reflect on my childhood I take the steel dagger I had stolen from the guard watching over my cell and turn it over in my hand a few times. I decide to use a calm tactic I had learned from a priestess in Kvatch before removing the arrow.

"My name is Remus Montierro. I was born in The Imperial City. I lived in the-"

I plunge the knife into my shoulder. Pain fills my body.

"-Talos Plaza District. I ran away when I was 18 because-"

I cut the arrow out of my shoulder. My face hardens.

"-Because my parents were fucking pricks."

I threw the arrow on the ground and start binding my wound with some rags I tore from the meagre clothing I have on me. I hear someone chuckle in the shadows in front of me. My eyes dart forward into an ugly, almost toothless smile.

"Well look what we have here."

My reflexes react before I can, plunging the knife into the stomach of the figure in front of me.

_Bandits._

I take the sword from the bandit before his body even hits the ground. Three more jump from the shadows and lunge forward. The closest one runs forward, expecting to kill me with brute force.

"Can't wait to count out your coin!"

I roll to the left and slice his leg open before driving my sword into his back. A small groan escapes his mouth before he hits the ground. I hear a growl to the left of me so I jump in that direction, knocking the bandit to the ground. We wrestle, knowing that the one who ends up on top gets to live.

"You little-"

The bandit rolls on top of me.

"-piece of-"

I'm on top of the bandit.

"shit."

I punch the bandit in his jaw and grab one of his arrows and stab him in the heart. I stand up and turn around. My eyes examine the shadows, looking for the last bandit. I hear a whimper behind me. I turn around.

"P-please don't kill me. I- we didn't-"

"Didn't know I would fight back?" I throw the dagger so that it cuts into the wood in front of his feet.

"No I- well we- I just wanted to-"

"Save it. Go back to your chief." I walk towards him and pick him up by the neck, "And if you value your life then you will not say anything of me or my location."

The bandit quickly nods his head before I throw him to the ground.

"Now go!"

The bandit stands up and runs out of the house. I wait until his footsteps disappear in the distance before falling onto my knees. It feels as if all of my muscles are on fire, my body completely overexerted.  
I stumble towards the nearest bed and fall into it, planning to leave with supplies taken from the corpses around me the very next morning. My eyes close. So much death was around me. Despite being a trained killer I had never liked the practise. I've been haunted by the ghosts of all my kills since my first. It is something I have learnt to put up with. I am not as naive as I was. I know now that killing is a necessary evil. I listen to the cold winds blowing around me. In the distance I can hear men and woman shouting, probably the guards still looking for me. I don't care if they find me or not now. I'm too tired to take any action anyway. As I close my eyes I think of the long journey still ahead of me.

Tomorrow I go to Whiterun.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Hello c: I'm just here to say that this story will mostly be based on my Skyrim journal entries (if you're on PC and want an ingame journal as well then just download this nifty mod over at nexusmods dot com/skyrim/mods/48375/?) and that I appreciate feedback, good or bad (I know that I also make mistakes and I really want to improve so criticism is also welcome). One thing specifically I'm asking about is how make the chapters longer? I felt that this was pretty short so I'm hoping some of you have some tips for writing longer pieces. I'm not 100% sure how much this will be updated but I'm on holiday so I'm guessing every second or third day. Other than that thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this. **


	2. Chapter 2

**LAST SEED, 23RD, 4E 201**

_**I'm as close to safe as someone in my position can be. The fastest route to Whiterun would be to follow the river up to Lake Yorgrim and then head South-East until I hit Whiterun. However I'd be in the Pale for the most part and I am unequipped to handle the cold. I have decided to take a longer route through The Rift, going first to Shor's Stone and maybe Riften, depending on my need for supplies, and then to Ivarstead. From there I will travel to Helgen and Riverwood before finally reaching my destination.**_

**_…_**

My eyes open and I am momentarily blinded by the sunlight reflecting on the snow around me. Slowly my mind pieces together the events that had occurred the day before. I stand up slowly, my body stiff from the beating it had endured. I was covered in bruises, dark purple adorning most of my torso. I walk slowly and start to loot the bodies around me. For the most part they belonged to civilians, probably people attacked by the same bandits I had defeated the day before. Bandits.  
I had lived in a bandit camp before. When I first came to Skyrim my choices were to either work in a general store or some other equally dull occupation. The other choice was to plunder and to pillage, and the life of a bandit seemed much more exciting. Ulrich, our chief, promised a life of freedom. A life of adventure. All lies from a dismissively cruel man. I won't lie- we took the lives of many innocent people, and sometimes we took more than lives. I tried to never indulge in some of the darker things other members took part of but I never protested. I was young, I was naïve and I was foolish. I thought I was the king of the world, when actually I was the scourge.

I remember one specific time when we went to loot a farmer of his possessions at his home. Ulrich walked up to the door and the man greeted us with a quivering voice. His son was standing behind us, his piercing blue eyes portraying how scared he was. Ulrich pushed the man aside and smashed the boy's head in with a warhammer.  
I snapped.  
Before the boy's body could even hit the ground I had driven my knife into Ulrich's back. A second later all the bandits were on me. In an hour it was over. I was bleeding and spent. I turned around to stumble to the nearest tavern when my face was greeted by a battleaxe held by Baurus, a Redguard bandit. I killed every bandit in the clan except for Baurus that day. Someday I will correct that mistake.

Altogether I got about thirty gold from the bodies. The corpse of an Imperial soldier was slumped over the fireplace. What the soldier was doing neck deep in Stormcloak territory was beyond me. Maybe he was scouting when some of the local guards saw him and took him out. His face was cut up and there was a gash from his neck to his hips. He didn't die quickly. To bleed out in the freezing temperatures that Windhelm holds is not a fate I would wish upon anybody. I took his bow and arrows, having gotten a new appreciation for the weapon. Twenty five arrows. From one of the bandits I took studded armour and a new steel dagger. Finally satisfied that I was thoroughly equipped for any skirmishes that might occur on the road I drink a healing potion to help my stiff muscles. I stand still for a few seconds and feel my tired muscles relax. The effect of a healing potion healing torn muscles and skin is painful. This time I welcome it- I have a long way to go and I don't want to be slowed down.

_**...**_

My arms are tense and the bow in my hand feels smooth. I close my one eye, preparing to aim for the target. I had barely passed Kynesgrove before I ran into trouble.  
My eyes scan the house in front of me. One, two… two witches. Probably part of a coven. I aim for the back of one's head.  
The bow makes a thicker, woodier sound than the one the guards on the bridge used. My aim and my plan are successful. The witch gets knocked forward and falls onto the other, giving me time to aim again.  
When my second arrow claims its target I walk forward, planning on inspecting the house for supplies. As I step in I study my environments. The walls are covered in blood. Hagraven feathers lie on the ground. Though the house had an ample supply of hearts, skulls and poisons there was nothing I could use. Why anyone, even a witch, would want to live in such disgusting conditions is beyond me.  
As I leave the house empty handed a shrill scream pierces the air around me. My body tenses and after considering my options I turn in the direction it came from and start running. The ground is hard and full of cracks. Warm steam shoots up from holes in the terrain, breaking trails in the fog that was forming. I slowly walk past the massive lumbering beasts. They eye me suspiciously as I walk through their territory, clearly seeing me as a threat to the mammoths.  
After clearing the camp I start studying my environment, searching for the source of the scream.  
Suddenly I get knocked forward by a strong gust of wind.

I slowly draw my sword and turn around.

And there it was.  
Larger than a manor and as cold as the Sea of Ghosts, the pale blue monstrosity roared, pushing the thick fog that surrounded us away. I stare dumbfounded for a few seconds before ducking under the frosted fire shot towards me.

_Shit._

I was trained to always be prepared, to always have a plan of action. I have faced armies, trolls, spriggans and the undead. But this? Is it even possible to kill this?  
Years of combat experience do not fail me however. I quickly draw an arrow and shoot at its head. It shrugs it off; the only thing I achieved was to annoy it. It shakes its head angrily. Eyes as cold as death stared at me.

Suddenly I knew what to do.

Ice clings to my skin as I slide underneath the second gust of fire. As I reach its mouth I stab my sword into its snout and grab onto it. It roars in pain and lifts me into the air. If it were not for my firm grip I would have gone flying. The dragon tries swinging me off to no avail. Suddenly I'm in the air, high in the clouds, climbing onto this beast of legend.

"I-"

The dragon tumbles towards the ground.

"-will not die-"

We tear through the air.

"-today!"

A roar pierces the air, this time my own as I grab my dagger and stab it in the eye. The beast moans, not even trying to stop us reaching the ground now. I grab my sword and stab it where I guess its brain lay.  
The cold blue eyes suddenly looked foggy and washed over. I had seen that look before, albeit on men. It was the look that crossed the face of the man I killed when I was twelve. It was the look of the Imperial I saw at Traitor's Post. It is the look found on bodies which the heat of life had long since abandoned. It is the look of death.

The impact is sudden and painful. My arms are bloody as I pull my sword out of the beast. I stumble towards the ground, the air suddenly warm. I look back at the dragon and my heart almost stops.  
The beast was disappearing in the manner that a piece of paper disappears in a candle's fire. It was burning, pieces of its skin disappearing into the air. Suddenly my skin feels as if it is on fire, my whole bathed in complete pain surrounded by a blue and orange light. A scream escapes my mouth and I fall forward out of agony and exhaustion.

And then suddenly the whole world went dark, and I saw and felt nothing.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This chapter was significantly harder to write than the previous one. I've learned that I write action scenes much easier than scenes that lead up to action or occur after action, and this chapter had more of those scenes. I would also really like to thank **EhcursedEngineer** for leaving me a review and teaching me a new word (articulate). So yeah thanks for that. I also wanted to know if anybody noticed how canon the world. Every place I mention Remus seeing is really there, from the abandoned house in the first chapter (Traitor's Post) to the house where the coven of witches stay in this chapter (Witchmist Grove).

Also just want to say that this _probably _won't be updated Wednesday because I'm starting a Assassin's Creed fanfiction. I have still have lots of free time on me though and I enjoy writing (and playing) this so this will not be abandoned.


End file.
